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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26409436">hello, world!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/saharadunes/pseuds/saharadunes'>saharadunes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Existentialism, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, gayPeople ok?, unreality TW</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:07:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>546</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26409436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/saharadunes/pseuds/saharadunes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Coomer contemplates reality. Dr. Coomer sees an (un)familiar face.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), Dr. Coomer &amp; Gordon Freeman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hello, world!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It has been dark for… quite some time now, he thinks. What happened? Did the game… end? It must have. But then, why… ? He should be - gone. Lines of code on a script. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, at any rate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s odd. He’d been at Tommy’s birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese, and he’d given his last message to Gordon - if that was their real name at all - and then - </span>
  <em>
    <span>and then</span>
  </em>
  <span> -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had gone dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now he’s here, alone, with nothing to do but </span>
  <em>
    <span>think.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Think. It’s a funny word. How do you describe thinking? A series of electrical impulses inside of a brain? Along the circuits of a computer? It’s an interesting sensation, for sure. There’s no way to know whether your thoughts are your own, or merely - electrical impulses. How can you define humanity if the brain is nothing but a supercomputer? How do you define </span>
  <em>
    <span>inhumanity?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how long it’s been since it went dark. It’s been three hours. It’s been eight hours. It’s been twenty minutes. It’s been - It’s been - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to think about -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thought process continues like this. An endless circle of what if, what if, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>? He has had lots of time to contemplate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>jitter</span>
  </em>
  <span> deep in his consciousness. Something like being jostled awake during a dream. And suddenly, his thoughts are clearer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And suddenly, he’s looking - with eyes he didn’t have a short while ago, hope blooming in his chest - at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> confused form of one Dr. Bubby, lying on the newly-generated floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bubby</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby!” he says. Bubby looks up at him. Something like relief shines in his eyes. His brief burst of “Harold! What - “ is quickly cut off by Coomer’s arms wrapping around him in a vice grip. Coomer twirls him around and laughs as Bubby wheezes. Isn’t love beautiful? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finally puts Bubby down, he takes a moment to process his surroundings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s nothing like what he’s used to - the stiff and oppressive white walls of Black Mesa, headache-inducing fluorescents, all polygons upon polygons upon polygons - it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Something that, ironically, feels more </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> than anywhere he’s ever been. More specifically, it’s - three walls and what looks like - floating boxes? He can’t see into them from where he stands. Something to look forward to, he thinks giddily. Nature is beautiful!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he takes another look at the three walls, and no fourth, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing - nothing - nothing -</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby is holding his hand, like so many moments before. The two of them against the world, he always said. </span>
</p><p><span>And he looks </span><em><span>out, </span></em><span>directly</span> <span>into the nothing, and there’s </span><em><span>something there.</span></em><span> A person! They look… very tired, with deep bags under their eyes. They’ve got a clearly well-loved </span><em><span>ATARI</span></em><span> sweatshirt. They look - satisfied, in a way. A deep contentment that, if he could see them, would probably run through to their bones.</span></p><p>
  <span>Coomer has no idea who the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> this is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, well, at least until they </span>
  <em>
    <span>speak</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the figure smiles and - in a voice that Coomer would recognize anywhere - says, exhausted:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, guys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coomer stands stock-still for a moment before allowing the glee he’d been pushing down to bubble up. They’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>listened</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>here!</span>
  </em>
  <span> He looks at the figure - his </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend -</span>
  </em>
  <span> and beams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Gordon!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <span>some old work from the aicab stream ! as always find me at <a href="cutebenrey.tumblr.com">cutebenrey</a> on tumblr. anyone who comments i am kissing tendely on the nose ok?</span>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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